The Last Word
by Sempiternus
Summary: [Oneshot. Alternate universe. Sean centric.] He finally gets the last word after nobody was ever listening to him.


_**The Last Word**_

By Sempiternus

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_Summary: One-shot. Alternate universe. Sean centric. He finally gets the last word after nobody was ever listening to him._

_Author's Note: I wrote this back in July of 2005. I rewrote it to get it up to par, but it still differs from the _Degrassi_ time line, thus the alternate universe warning. It takes place after Sean leaves during "Back in Black."_

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Degrassi: The Next Generation_, and am not using it to gain any profits._

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Corciu à chi un ha à nimu.

Unhappy, he who has no one.

– _Corsican proverb_

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I know why I did it: To get the attention I had always yearned mercilessly for. And, now, here I am, a lonely mess. You don't want anything to do with me. _I_ don't want anything to do with me, but I can't seem to escape myself.

Or can I?

The complete solution to my problems came in thought form while I was in my so-called room, hearing my parents fight, drunk, for the third time that day. It was almost like they were on a schedule. Breakfast: throw-up, yell at me, fight with spouse; lunch: throw-up, fight with spouse, fight with fists with spouse again; and, finally, after a long day of puking, fighting, yelling, and hitting, they add one more thing to the mix-up to their brew of shit:—all in good fun, of course—gang up on child. That's right, the last pass time of the day was to yell at me; beat me into oblivion. This was a direct result of the poison coursing profusely through their veins, I knew that. But it didn't make the scars go away. It didn't help to make up excuses when the time came. The poison was their ultimate demise.

Did you see my face? My eyes? When your fist connected with my face, and I fell to the floor, you shattered my soul. Can you not see it? Are you blind? Are you that fucking oblivious?

I told myself that I really didn't hate you. That I ran away the first time because of my problems with myself, not you. Your problems, though . . . could I list them all? I chuckle cynically at the thought. It would be a waste of time. It's too late now. I say a silent "no" to nobody.

Nobody's around while I contemplate and write this. My brother can't tell me "no" and say that we aren't like them. 'Cause we are _just _like them. The fucking spitting image. Even when I ran away, I saw the damn similarities telling me to go on, that nobody would ever find out. Nobody would give a damn enough to do anything. It was always there. Like a shadow behind me, lurking wherever the sun cannot reach it—wherever you cannot reach it—it is there. I saw the similarities and ran with them. Turning to the miracle of alcohol at the first sign of trouble, that was one of my most memorable moments in my short history. Even when Tracker lost his job, I could see my father's face hidden behind his glacial mask. We always had too much pride.

Is that why you think they did it? Their pride? Did you think that I may have lowered theirs by doing actually well in school? They got me back, though, to their side. Maybe not intentionally, but they did it, and did it flawlessly. Just look at my current situation. They got me back so that they could considerately kill me. I'm a joke to them. They're demons to me. It goes both ways, I suppose. Is that the shit that got under their skin? Well, now I say, fuck their pride. Fuck them, most of all, but their pride is part of the problem. It blinds their sights. When mixed in with the alcoholic poison, they can't see anything. Slowly, they are killing me. Soon, I will be gone, though, and all they will have left to kill are themselves. I hope it's soon. I hope they die cruelly, just like the way they punch me. After having the poison shatter their judgement this last time, I _will _be gone, fuckers. I will be; you can fucking count on it. Just watch me while your laughing, silently, at my pleas, just like they always have.

And, now, here I am, sitting in my so-called room, that has a bed small enough to be called a cot—even less than that, even; I might as well sleep on the goddamn floor—and clothes with nobody saying "no." 'Cause nobody gives a rat's ass what happens to the trailer trash kid who couldn't make it. The friends, including you, that I had left behind don't care, 'cause they're too busy bitching about how I never call and haven't made an impromptu appearance. We have no telephone, no money left over after the poison spree, what the hell else can you expect?

That's another thing, I wonder why I would come back now, too, if you were really listening to me and tried to convince me to stop. Of coarse, this is purely hypothetical, 'cause you're not really here, but go with it. What's there for me at Degrassi? If I could just go back and make no more goddamn mistakes, it'd be paradise. But, I'm me, and you're you, and this will never happen. Too many damn memories, too many goddamn mistakes made by yours truly. I suppose you can be proud of this one, Mom and Dad, that I screw up everything I fucking touch, just like you. With the ones I love and with my friends. It's a cycle that I picked up from you guys. There's something you can say when you're crying pitifully and amazingly fake and saying that you don't know why this happened. Here's one memory that I will treasure for you; it will last a lifetime. I had turned to your type of people, Mom and Dad, and I swore that they would never lure me in, that I'd stay clean, 'cause I didn't want to end up like you. That ended up in shambles, too.

And here's another thing for my parents and _you_ to be proud of. This sharp knife that has been quavering in my hand since I begin is inching closer and closer to my skin. It's coming closer. It's too late for anyone to save me. I'm done.

So, now that this angst-filled letter is through with, I will give you, out of all of the people maybe reading all of this private stuff, the ultimate ending. It's one that the movie-goers love. You are a movie-goer, and I know that you will react the same as if this were fictional. Here is that part where I say my last goodbye, and make the finale of this troublesome movie a blockbuster success. And everybody will leave this movie with a feeling in their gut of regret. But, soon enough, life will go on, and time will be ruthless in its ever-going movement, and the movie will soon be forgotten. Just give it a couple of hours, and I'll be gone from everybody's memories. Just like a blockbuster success, everything is gone in an instance. When you step out into the light, the feeling is gone. You're back to being you. I hope that it goes away faster than that, though.

Goodbye . . .

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_Completed 23 July 2005_

_Revised 12 March 2006_


End file.
